


Medicine

by LysSerris



Series: One-Shot [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Hurt, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 00:47:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19897111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LysSerris/pseuds/LysSerris
Summary: Bellatrix won't take her medicine. It hurts less when she's sick.





	Medicine

“Take the pills.”

“No,” she replied in a petulant and tired tone.

The argument was always the same. Hermione would notice the bottle, notice the slight twitch of Bellatrix’s fingers as she cooked, or cleaned, or did anything other than accept the fact that the house was spotless. The food would just be extra. Anything and everything to keep her frantic thoughts at bay.

“You know what your doctor says. You know what your sister's say. You know what I have to say about it. Why won’t you just take them?”

Bellatrix pushed by her while she tried thinking of excuses to the reasons better left unsaid even if Hermione already knew them.

“Because, I don’t like how they make me feel.” She dropped onto the couch and pushed herself deeper into the cushions as she shivered, desperate for the warmth of Hermione now that the seasons had turned and their little home struggled to keep up with heating it.

“So you prefer being a jittery mess? You enjoy having voices in your head that aren’t your own? You  _ like _ how this makes you feel?”

The argument was following the same path as always. If she thought about it she could even tell exactly what Hermione was going to do next. Sit in the chair.  _ Her _ chair. The one Bellatrix had bought her for their third anniversary, a massive and ungainly monstrosity built from soft leather and plush cushions that creaked and groaned whenever someone so much as touched it. She’d purchased it from a Muggle store during one of her first forays out into the Muggle world alone, so that her love could while away the hours as she read in front of the fireplace. It became her sanctuary when times were tough, when words were sharp. When they argued.

“Bellatrix…” Hermione’s voice was tired as she covered her eyes with thin fingers and pressed into them in the way she did whenever Bellatrix managed to vex her past a normal level of frustration. 

“Hermione.” Her voice was soft and quiet as it rose up out of her throat, bearing the brunt of her emotions as she wondered why,  _ why, _ Hermione couldn’t just see it her way. This one time.

Her love sat down silently into the seat, arms crossed over her chest and eyes closed as she struggled to settle her breath. Her leg bounced up and down, yet another nervous tick that she’d developed in the aftermath of the War. A final year at school, stable Ministry job, and all the mind healers in the world hadn’t been able to remove every trace of those horrors.

“You know what happens when you don’t take the medicine.  _ You know. _ It’s a condition you have to meet. What will happen if an Inspector comes around? If they see you’re off it? They’ll take you away Bellatrix. Please…” Hermione’s voice was tired and pleading, alone and frightened.

“They won’t know. I just flush it down the sink, there, done. They’ll never be the wiser.”

“They will once they see how you’re acting. They’ll take you away.”

“No they won’t!” Bellatrix leapt up to her feet with an indignant growl of frustration now that she was so, so angry. She paced to the kitchen as Hermione kept quiet, tears leaking down the side of her face as she forced herself to keep working,  _ always working, always moving, always occupied. _ She placed the table settings while Hermione watched her work with a sad smile on her face and tears in her eyes as well.

“Dinner’s ready.” 

She sat, waiting patiently as Hermione got up from her chair and silently came to the table, pulling out a chair and staring across it at her.

“You can’t keep going like this Bellatrix.”

She nodded at that, she knew that at least was true. But… She couldn’t take the medicine.

Silverware clinked as she ate, silence from the other side of the table, finger twitching spastically as her body fought itself. When she looked up again Hermione hadn’t touched her food, staring at her instead.

“You remember when we first arrived?”

“Of course,” Bellatrix replied with a sad smile on her lips, “I nearly burned the place down.”

\---

_ “So! This is it, the Ministry’s already approved, checked the wards and set it all up. We’re free from here.” Hermione spun around in a circle, her arms open wide and a brilliant smile lighting up her face when she turned back towards Bellatrix. “You like it?” _

_ Bellatrix sniffed, chin held high and chest hurting as she nursed her wounded pride. _

_ “A little Muggle if you ask me. And small.” _

_ Hermione’s arms dropped to her side as she huffed at her response. She walked forward slowly, wrapping Bellatrix in a warm hug that smothered the formerly-dark witch in the scent of old books, pine trees, a hint of something citrus at the edges of her nose.  _

_ “It’s part of the terms. You know that. Same thing with your meds, which you should be taking right about,” a little watch on Hermione’s wrist began beeping a robotic chime, “Now.” _

_ Bellatrix disengaged from her partner, reaching into the large leather bag holstered around her shoulder and carefully withdrew the pill bottle at the bottom of the bag, drawing out two tablets and swallowing them dry. When she finished she faced Hermione with an open mouth and stuck out her tongue, over emphasizing the ‘Ahhhh!’, as she waited for approval. _

_ “Good! Now, why don’t you take a look around, I’ll get the bags settled.” _

_ Bellatrix had wandered off after that, touring the small cottage and sniffing out any peculiarities she could find. Of which there were many. It was all so… different. So completely at odds with how she’d lived her life. There were no elves, no sconces on the wall holding an everlasting fire. It was all electricity and sterility.  _

_ She’d ended up in the kitchen to fiddle with the expensive Muggle contraptions that Hermione said could cook or keep food just as well as their magical counterparts, her hands running over smooth linoleum and bumpy white laminate. The stove was a massive thing of gleaming metal and odd little circles on the top. It caught her interest almost immediately as she meandered about. Four little knobs on the part facing her were all turned to a blank 0, and she turned the little dial just to see what would happen.  _

_ ‘Click-Click-Click-Click’ _

_ Nothing. She frowned at the odd action and noise before turning back towards the entrance of the kitchen when she heard Hermione’s footfalls heading towards her from down the hall. _

_ “Hermione? What’s this thingy,” she twisted the knob again as Hermione entered the room, the dial clicking as she turned it until- _

_ \--- _

“Yep,” Hermione emphasized the word with a pop of her lips as she spoke, “You almost burned us all to a crisp.” 

Bellatrix looked around herself, her head turning back and forth as she viewed the living room where Hermione had proposed, the kitchen where she’d fought with Harry when he’d been a knuckle-head about turning down a promotion, the glass doors to the porch where they’d shared their souls with each other the first night after their marriage.

“Bellatrix,” Hermione said, suddenly at her shoulder and pulling Bellatrix from her recollections, “Please take the pills.”

Her food was still untouched. 

“You know I can’t, Pet.” Tears began leaking down her face in earnest while her throat closed up and her head began pounding.

“Why?” Hermione’s voice was a pleading tone, same as always, same as yesterday, same as the days before.

“It’s the only way I can keep you around.”

**Author's Note:**

> Random piece based off a prompt I read.


End file.
